


now I got a bellyache

by anicula



Series: res gestae [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, body guard au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2019-06-17 14:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15463152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anicula/pseuds/anicula
Summary: it starts with a wisecrack about blowjobs and continues along that veinres gestae in fabula: patience tested, heels worn, silk destroyed





	now I got a bellyache

**Author's Note:**

> un-orphaned work.

“You need to swallow that damn pride of yours Yura.” Otabek keeps a tight grip on his waist. The back of JJ Leroy is slinking away angrily.

“But I’m so much better at swallowing other things.” Yuri trails his hand down Otabek’s chest purposefully, lingering for half a second around the metal of his belt before tracing the outline of his cock with one black lacquered nail. 

The only sign Otabek’s affected is the distended shape of his neat tailored slacks, the bastard’s not even breathing heavier. Yuri flattens his palm against the warm length pressing out from behind soft woven wool and moves it up and down, slow and tight. 

“Don’t,” is the clipped response he gets. 

“Or what?” Yuri keeps his hand there. He can pinpoint the exact moment his fingers find the head of Otabek’s cock through the layers of clothing because there’s a twitch of jaw muscle and  _oh_  - Yuri wants more of that, so much  _more_. “You’ll punish me?”

Otabek glares down at him, not saying anything. 

So Yuri - Yuri grinds up against him on purpose, not caring that they’re now putting on a show for all the other miscreants in the club, the curtains pulled back on their private booth. 

He’s about to slide his silk wrap off in an imitation of the girls sliding down the poles outside the booth when Otabek jerks forward a little and accidentally sends Yuri sprawling backwards on the low table. But all Otabek does after is run his hand through his hair, frustrated, and offers, “I’m sorry Yura, are you okay?” He has a hand out to help Yuri off the table. But Yuri stays, his legs sprawled open. Not what he had anticipated sure, but not exactly the worst view to offer up a man he’s wanted to fuck five shots ago. 

He smiles up at Otabek, takes his hand, intertwines their fingers together, and brings it up to his lips. 

“Why are you so opposed to your dick being in me?” Yuri asks. 

“I can’t protect you when you’re the only one I can see,” Otabek answers, not looking at Yuri. He’s scanning the room the way he’d been doing every few minutes since they got to the club.  

“I like your eyes on me.” Yuri stretches languidly on the table, the silk wrap falling down around his shoulders and exposing the sharp dip that lead to his pelvis. A few more twists and he would be displayed in every way.  

Otabek’s still not looking at him, but Yuri knows he’s won when Otabek reaches to tug the thick velvet curtains shut around their booth. 

He’s giddy with that knowledge when Otabek bends down to press a kiss against his hip, not caring that the sharp heel of Yuri’s stiletto is pressed against his thigh. Otabek takes care to not rip the wrap off, untying the thick laces with patient hands. Yuri shifts his foot and presses his heel against the bulge of Otabek’s slacks ever so softly. He gets a stern look for his troubles.

“Behave.” The command in Otabek’s tone is enough to make Yuri press even harder without meaning to, a whine passing through his lips loud enough to rival the music. “Be good,” is said with a kiss to Yuri’s bared knee. Otabek slips Yuri’s shoes off so that Yuri is spread out on the table without a stitch of clothing on. 

Otabek’s got all his on, every single layer of his three piece suit and Yuri longs for the scrape of wool against his flushed skin. He’s so hot - from the club, from the tease and Otabek is just - 

Standing there, a smirk on his lips, perfectly composed. 

Yuri lifts a leg, fully intending on kicking Otabek round the side to get him to  _move dammit_ , but Otabek catches him by the ankle far too soon and lifts it even higher - over his shoulder and Yuri can feel the delicious stretch that races down the back of his thigh. Its path is mimicked by Otabek’s hand, rough with calluses, sliding tortuously slow down his leg and stopping short of anything Yuri wants him to touch.  

“Please,” Yuri whimpers, desperate for Otabek to touch his cock. It’s been hard for too long, red verging on purple with prominent veins and he really shouldn’t have started the night by teasing himself, but he was confident, so confident and Otabek was next to impenetrable. 

When Otabek deigns to wrap his hand around Yuri’s cock, a few strokes is enough to get Yuri leaking. “So wet already baby,” he murmurs as he smooths his palm over the head of Yuri’s cock again and again. 

Yuri’s arching off the table, his toes curled, so close that all the words are jumbled in his head. Otabek stops a stroke shy of getting Yuri to actually cum and Yuri lets out a frustrated cry. He would kick Otabek with his foot if his limbs were cooperating properly, but they’re putty under Otabek’s ministrations. Yuri settles for yanking on Otabek’s stupid tie and a glare with no heat behind it. 

“Patience is a virtue,” Otabek says as he strokes down Yuri’s sternum and leans down to press closed mouth kisses in meaningless patterns. Meaningless until his mouth latches on a nipple and  _sucks._ And Yuri thinks he’s going to cum but there’s a tight pressure at the base of his cock and he does cry a little this time because Otabek uses teeth and tongue and his nipple is raw when Otabek moves to the other side and his cock is still leaking. 

But Otabek doesn’t relent and Yuri passes the next while in a haze of warm and wet, sharp pinpricks of pain breaking in every now and then until Otabek brings his attention down his chest, down the dip of his pelvis and finally, brings Yuri into his mouth while keeping his eyes on Yuri’s face. 

It takes approximately two glides up and down and Yuri is done - he spills, half in Otabek’s mouth, some on Otabek’s scruff, and some smeared on his own stomach. 

He feels like a wreck, sticky with sweat and just enough cum to make him feel used. Otabek leans over him to give him a kiss and Yuri can taste the muskiness of himself on Otabek’s tongue and -  _he moans_ , like something out of a novella and his cock tries to take an interest in the proceedings again but it’s too much - too quick, he pushes Otabek away so he could prop himself up. 

Otabek’s a mess. His clothes are more or less intact, but there’s a very satisfying flush high on his cheekbones and sweat beading on his neck and Yuri’s cum on the corners of his mouth. And as Yuri looks lower, he sees a spot of wet where Otabek’s trousers are hopelessly tented, and he swallows. Because he wanted. To taste, out of want, if not need. 

But when he reaches out, Otabek grips his wrist. “That’s not necessary. I don’t want -” 

“I want.” Yuri pries Otabek’s hand off. Because sucking on the head of Otabek’s cock had been getting him off for the past week. He’d be waking up hard from dreams of sealing his lips around that flared head and choking on that length, working Otabek to shaking, leaking ruin that he always somehow managed to leave Yuri in, regardless of his actual presence. 

He pushes Otabek down on the plush seat and settles back on his heels on the floor, face to face with the spot of wet that got larger the longer he stared. Yuri glances up at Otabek and keeps his eyes locked with brown ones as he leans forward give a small kiss to the bulge. 

Otabek inhales sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his side as if he was afraid to touch. Yuri takes one hand and unfurls the fingers, buries it in his hair like he would a comb and says, “Pull if you want.” 

The booth resonates with the force of Otabek’s head banging against the back wall of the booth. Yuri pays it no heed and works Otabek’s belt loose. He uses his mouth to do the rest and chasing down the zipper takes more time than he thought it would but the results are more than gratifying because while he’s sloppy, saliva trickling down his chin, the crotch of Otabek’s pants are worst - so drenched they’re completely unsalvageable. 

Yuri frees Otabek’s cock from the folds of cloth and  _yeah_  - it’s exactly how he imagined, flushed and thick and long. He traces the vein snaking down the underside of Otabek’s cock with his tongue till he gets to the base and he presses a kiss there, wet and filthy, a hint of teeth that makes Otabek jerk and pull on the fistful of Yuri’s hair he’s got in his hand. And Yuri has never been so glad that he’s eighteen because he could cum again - will cum if this continues - without even touching his cock. 

He kisses back up Otabek’s length, opening his mouth a little once he gets to the tip. He presses the head in and out in small bobs, like he would a lolly and laps up every drop of precum that spills over. He keeps his fingers running over the rest of the hard length, nails only occasionally scrapping lightly over a protruding vein and Otabek’s breathing heavy, his thighs are trembling - Yuri’s feeling victorious. 

Yuri keeps at it, his tongue swirling around the head, pressing on the point at the base of it that makes Otabek pull on his hair and groan and swear. He bobs his head up and down a few times, tiny shallow swallows that drive Otabek to distraction before sinking down on Otabek’s entire length and he was right - he’s nearly choking, he has to take a moment to relax his throat and he hums around his mouthful once he can. 

Otabek cums with a stuttered, “Fuck,” and he tries to pull Yuri back but only gets far enough that the cum splatters into Yuri’s mouth and across his face, dripping down his chin with the saliva already there. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” is all he croaks out when Yuri glances up at him beneath his lowered lashes. Yuri grins, wiping at his face with his fingers and then licking them when he sees Otabek tracking his movements.

“That can’t taste good.” 

“It’s an acquired taste.” Yuri shrugs, getting up. His knees are smarting from the floor and his cock has filled out again, but he can’t be bothered. The low thrum of arousal isn’t enough to distract him at the moment. 

Otabek eyes it nevertheless. “How old are you again?”

“Eighteen,” Yuri says primly as he slides his wrap back on. “Feel old?” He grins at the carefully blank expression on Otabek’s face. 

“Not yet.” He helps Yuri get his heels back on, tying the straps when Yuri places his foot in Otabek’s lap. 

Otabek calls for the car when they’re as presentable as they could possibly be under the circumstances. Yuri’s got Otabek’s jacket on as they make their way out the back of the club, covering the thin stretched out silk of his dress. He buries himself in the warmth that Otabek exudes as soon as they’re inside the car. 

“Take me home," he says with his eyes closed.

 


End file.
